Weightless
by Modern Physics
Summary: He smiles and it hurts. It hurts because he knows the outcome. Hurts because all these images, all these lines, all these curves... they’re only a mere reflection. Set after 5x14, mild Dan/Charlotte


It was familiar. Everything. The metal railings, cracked off-white paint peeling from the worn frame held him up. Held him together. Or perhaps they simply just let him hold them, waiting for the next big wave to break. It was all irrelevant. He was here. This was now. This was everything. Everything. He could feel it, see it and hold it. It wasn't going anywhere. It was not moving. The world was no longer spinning. He sighed. Once because he could and twice more because he felt like he owed it to himself. But three wasn't his lucky number so he inhaled twice more. Five. Five breaths. Five is supposed to be the only odd untouchable number... the only odd prime number that is not the base of an aliquot tree. Aliquot. He remembers chemistry. He hates chemistry. Part of the total solution, aliquot. A-l-i-q-u-o-t. Seven letters. Still an odd number. He thinks this whole sequence of thoughts is odd, like a spliced film reel thrown together in a hurry. But yet he can't stop thinking about it. About this. About himself. About what had happened and what is yet to happen. The air stung his face and for once it felt good... it felt right.

"Excuse me, are you okay?"

That voice. That perfectly even and not odd voice. He couldn't place it. All colours and shapes and equations and formulas... but no face. No memories. It was static. Everything was a dead static screen when it came to the voice. All sound, no picture.

"I'm fine, actually. More than fine. Just admiring the waves. I'm okay."

The voice was a woman. A woman that he could have sworn he saw before. But not like this. No, not quite like this. Maybe a little... maybe the blue eyes and red hair, but not... no, not exactly. He's wracking his brain but it doesn't do much good at all. Too much static. There is no signal out here, wherever 'here' is.

"Oh, oh. Alright then. I thought you were getting sick. I get sick quite a bit and thought maybe you might too. I reckon it'll take awhile to get my sea legs, yeah?"

He nodded, unable to take his eyes off the oh so familiar figure standing before him. Who was she? How did he know her? She's too even and he's too odd. Add them together and the solution will always be odd anyway. He doesn't like even numbers, you know, as a rule. He wishes he remembered why. Stupid chemistry. He hates chemistry.

"Yeah, I... I guess it will."

He smiles vacantly and she raises an eyebrow. The expression is etched in his mind.

"My name is Charlotte," she says as she extends a hand, "Charlotte Lewis. Glad to meet you."

He reciprocates and it all clicks into place. He remembers the word 'dharma'. He remembers a string of numbers, some even and some odd. He remembers a little girl with red hair and blue eyes. He remembers a swing set. He remembers himself. He remembers it all. It hurts.

"My name... my name is Daniel Faraday?"

He says it like he doesn't believe it himself. She laughs but it's not funny, at least not to him.

"Physicist extraordinaire, right? I've heard all about you. You're some kind of genius, yeah?"

His head was spinning. The world was starting back up again, hurling everything through space and time. He felt it all shift. He felt tides rise and recede. He felt the sudden change in temperature. The butterfly effect. Whatever happened, happened. But what did happen? He remembers it in fragments. In aliquots. He remembers in parts of the solution but not the entire solution itself.

This conversation had happened before. It would happen again. This was real. So was the past, so was the future. He knows where he is going and why he is going. It's going to happen all over again and there's no way to stop it. He is gone. At least, the 'he' that can stop this, change this... fix this.

"I'm... I'm sorry, I don't... I'm going to go sit down. Nice to meet you."

The static turns off and he's faced with some form of an obscure reality. He wants to turn it off but there's no switch.

"Oh, alright then. I'll see you inside later, maybe we can have lunch?"

He smiles and it hurts. It hurts because he knows the outcome. Hurts because all these images, all these lines, all these curves... they're only a mere reflection. Only a shadow. Only a picture. He goes to hold the rail but it's gone. Everything is gone. Everything is even again... parallel. There's nothing he can do. He can't warn her... he can't warn himself. He has the final solution but it's useless. Fated to pretend.

"I'd... I'd love that, thank you."

He can't remember when the world turned slowly.


End file.
